


Box Office Smash

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Movie Making, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-02-15
Updated: 2006-02-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's the director, Xander's the errand boy, and this film is going to be an absolute mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note I've tagged this story "Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued". I'm including it with my other archived items on AO3 in part for completion's sake, and in part because if anyone is hoping to find a fic with these characters and this set of tropes, well, here it is, unfinished though it may be. Thank you.

Xander runs back into the set, letting the door bang him on the ass as per recent instructions, thank you very much, when the tech who yelled at him this morning looks like he's getting ready to let fly another lengthy invective.

"Hold your horses," Xander grumbles. "Or in this case, your weird gel...light...thingy." They both frown at the thin clear pink plasticy strip the tech has in his hand.

"You're an hour late, and he's pissed," the tech settles for saying.

"One, I'm a half hour late," Xander says. He starts walking, aware the tech is hot on his heels without turning. "And B, he's the one who sent me off to get this."

"All I'm saying, is there's going to be hell to pay when the shit hits the fan, and no one minds letting you be the one to get the ax or take the fall when it all comes tumbling down."

Xander blinks. "There's just so many metaphorical phrases there. I'm not sure where to start."

"Is he back?" a voice shouts out. Muffled by the thin trailer-wall, sure, but the annoyed British accent thing comes through loud and clear.

"I'm back," Xander answers.

"Your funeral," the tech shrugs as Xander wraps his fingers around the door knob. "You're so getting fired," he adds, just in case Xander doesn't understand.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," Xander tells him.

Xander's scarcely inside when he's slammed against the closed door. It's a near thing, but he manages to keep the prayer that it won't crumple and send him flying back out onto the lot inside of his head.

"You're late," Spike growls at him.

"Okay, _number one_ ," Xander starts. Spike interrupts him by a little shake to his shoulders, and Xander considers. "Yeah, okay, I'm late."

"How far the fuck do you have to go to get Dunhills in this bloody town?" Spike asks him. His voice is reasonable, despite the fact that he's now pushing himself against Xander's body and snuffling at his neck and clothing while he takes the paper bag from Xander's hands.

"Not that far," Xander says uncomfortably.

"You stopped to eat lunch," Spike announces. "I can smell the french fries." He draws back, and his expression is a mixture of shock and betrayal. "I sent you out to get fags, and you had McDonald's."

"Sonic," Xander corrects automatically. "But I can explain! Mike the tech guy was yelling at me all morning, and I never got to the craft table. And then, there was crap-all for lunch, because the sound guys got there first, and none of the big name actors are around this afternoon, and--"

"You selfish sod," Spike says sadly. "Going to have to do something to make it up to me."

"Yeah, right," Xander scoffs. "Like I don't know what that means."

They move quickly, Xander pressing Spike hard against the other wall of the trailer, the thankfully doorless though still-thin wall. He wouldn't be as irked if the wall collapses now, though, because Spike will break his fall.

"You're so fucking sure you know what it means -- get to it then," Spike orders him.

Xander keeps his grumbling to a minimum as he gets to his knees and opens Spike's fly with practiced ease. "Fine. But you're springing for my chocolate shake the next time," he says just before he licks from the base of Spike's cock to the head.

"God, yeah," Spike says. His voice is shaking, and so are his hands as he rips open the cigarettes and reaches into his pocket for the lighter.

"And my sandwich," Xander adds. He's gotten Spike nice and wet already, and he reaches back, using some of the saliva to fondle Spike's balls.

"Sandwich," Spike agrees. He's already drawing on the cigarette, and he bucks his hips forward with a groan when Xander tightens his lips around his erection and slides down, twining his free hand into Xander's hair.

"And a promotion," Xander adds when he pulls back to gasp for air.

"Fuck are you on about now?" Spike asks. Damn him for coming to his senses.

But Xander's had just about enough from Mike the tech guy and the jerks working sound eating all the good food and leaving just salad, so he keeps on. "Promotion," he insists. "I'm sick of running errands for everyone and their dog, and getting blamed for anything that goes wrong."

"Yeah, all right," Spike answers. His hands are on Xander's ears now, and he's talking around the cigarette. "Promotion." He urges Xander's head forward, breathing harder when Xander goes down on him again. "From now on, you only run errands for me."


	2. Chapter 2

“Fuck, yes,” Spike pants as he snaps his hips forward faster. “Jesus, you’re so . . . Right there, yeah . . . _fuck_!”

Spike jerks forward with a gasp. Xander swallows again and leans his forehead against Spike’s thigh, catching his breath. Spike’s fingers are combing through Xander’s hair slowly now and Xander can feel the rise and fall as Spike takes one last blissed-out drag on his cigarette.

“So that’s the last time that’s going to happen,” Xander says to Spike’s hipbone. 

“What?” Spike asks. When Xander looks up, Spike’s normally slicked up hair is standing in tufts, his eyes are glazed, and his bottom lip is bleeding just a bit from where he apparently bit it. The cigarette in his hand (the second one) is now a long cylinder of ash. “Why not? ‘s the whole bloody point of promoting you.”

“Nope,” Xander says. “No way and no how.” He winces at the way his hard-on chafes against his zipper as he stands.

“Don’t be stupid. C’mere,” Spike offers, gesturing to the bulge in Xander’s cargo pants.

“You’re not paying attention,” Xander says, backing away for good measure. “The _point_ is that I had to do that to make up for stuff because covering everything for everyone was impossible. Now I’m not going to mess up any more.”

To his credit, Spike manages to look pretty menacing even with his jeans pushed halfway down his thighs and his cock hanging limply. “Oh, yeah, like that’s going to work. You think you have principles now? Bit late for that. And anyhow, if it stands in the way of your getting off, can’t see how it’s such a fantastic thing for you.”

“Look, you agreed to promote me --“

“When you were on your knees with my cock in your mouth,” Spike puts in.

“And now our relationship is going to be strictly professional,” Xander finishes with a glare. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and blinks when he sees Spike following the motion with hungry eyes. 

When Xander takes another step away, Spike makes a sound that’s pretty much a growl. “We’ll see about that.”

Xander leaves the trailer with the comforting thought that victory is his and the sinking feeling that he should have waited to take the high road until after Spike jerked him off.

* * *

Outside on the lot, Mike is disgusted to learn that Xander hasn’t been canned.

“Win some, lose some,” Xander calls out sympathetically when Mike turns on his heel and walks away. It’s apt too, because Mike’s clearly lost the pool of whatever bet was made when Xander went inside Spike’s trailer. Behind Mike he can see Devon, the guy who holds the boom, collecting his winnings from the others with a nod and a lazy grin. 

Xander decides not to find out the terms Devon put in for in the bet. Instead he skulks off to sit near the craft table. With it’s empty trays sparsely covered in limp lettuce, he figures it’s a good bet that no one’s going to bug him over there. 

“Hey. Saved you a brownie.”

“Oh. Cool.” Xander looks up as Oz takes the spot beside him. “There were brownies? Who’s on set today?”

“Execs were on the lot after lunchtime. And there’s a script meeting in a few with the lead.”

“No wonder Spike is in such a bitchy mood,” Xander says half to himself. 

Oz tips his head back, not looking at Xander as he hands over the slightly squished brownie, still wrapped up in a paper napkin. “Extra napkin,” Oz observes to no one in particular. “For the . . . mayo.”

“Mayo?” Xander asks blankly. He puts his fingertips to his lips and flushes. “Yeah, mayo,” he mutters as he wipes away a drop of Spike’s come that he missed.

“So the script meeting,” Oz notes.

Xander has the brownie half-unwrapped before he gets that Oz is talking to him instead of just running over the schedule out loud. “Nah, I don’t go to script meetings,” he explains around a bite of brownie. “They’ll probably send me out for --“ He pauses as he remembers that there’s only one person he answers to now. 

“Where the fuck’s Harris?” Spike’s voice bellows from the make-shift conference room. “Tell him if he’s not in the meeting in ten seconds, he’s off the whole project.”

“What? No! Fuck.” Xander stands and pats his pockets anxiously. 

“Looks like you go to script meetings,” Oz observes mildly.

* * *

Angel looks up at the ceiling and sighs loudly. “I just can’t work under these conditions.”

“Why the fuck not?” Spike asks. He shoots a look around the table, just in case anyone else feels like chiming in to agree with Angel. 

“It’s unprofessional, getting new pages every single day.” Angel says it slowly, like Spike is a moron.

“Goddard never worked from a script on the set of _Pierre Le Fou_ ,” Oz remarks. As the assistant director, he’s mainly the guy who relays stuff to the techs, but when he says stuff like that Xander rolls his eyes at Mike in a way that clearly communicates: Yes, Oz, we all remember you went to film school.

“What do you know from professional?” Spike asks in a too-friendly voice. “This is first picture you’ve been in.”

Angel drums his fingers on the table. He’s working up to one of his big heaving sighs. 

“Listen, no worries. We’ll have the new pages from Spike’s notes in three hours,” Warren says with assurance.

Spike growls in the direction of the writers.

“Two, two hours,” Andrew blurts from the chair next to Warren’s. He shoots Xander a skittish smile, and Xander tries not to groan. Running Spike’s errands probably now means running interference with the Troika. 

“I don’t see why we can’t just use the pages we wrote last night,” Jonathan says to Warren. “You liked them this morning.”

“Because it’s a whole new thing now, dumb ass,” Warren mutters under his breath. “It’s all about the action sequences.”

“Don’t call me a dumb ass. You’re the dumb ass. And I thought this was supposed to be a romantic comedy.”

“Warren is so not a dumb ass,” Andrew protests. “The romantic comedy thing is totally over. Remember how we decided that after lunch? The shots of Angel’s character jumping out of the helicopter are going to be box office gold.”

“Thanks, baby,” Warren says absently. “I mean, thanks, _Andy_ ,” he adds when everyone’s head turns towards him. 

“Oh Christ,” Spike groans. “Don’t tell me your fucked up little triangulation has changed all its points again.”

“Fine. We won’t tell you.” Jonathan crosses his arms and glares at the other two writers. 

“Jumping out of a helicopter?” Angel asks. “I don’t think that’s in my contract.” 

“It’s the stunt double who jumps,” Oz points out.

Angel frowns. “I don’t think I like where the script is heading. Helicopters, it’s just so _Matrix_. I’m more of a Jimmy Stewart romantic lead.”

“ _Vertigo_ ,” Oz says to Xander.

“Gesundheit,” Xander says back.

“Jimmy Stewart did action films,” Oz clarifies.

Angel touches his hair and frowns.

“ _North by Northwest_ ,” Oz supplies.

“What about the scene where I show up with dozens of roses? That’s touching. That’s what people like to see.” Angel shifts in his seat. “And aren’t I supposed to take off my shirt or something? I don’t spend all this time working out just for myself.”

“We could probably work that in, the half-naked thing,” Andrew says. When he keeps staring slack-jawed at Angel’s chest, Warren whaps him on the back of the head.

“Aw, looks like you decided to start without me.” Darla stands in the doorway, a mock-pout on her lips. 

“Oh good,” Angel says in relief. “Tell them I don’t do helicopters.”

“Darla,” Spike says in a careful voice. “I didn’t think you were available today.” He spares a moment to turn an accusing look on Angel, but Angel’s face turns impressively blank. 

“If there are major changes, I’m available,” she says. “Like changing the focus of the film again? Not that I mind the action slant. Angel playing the champion, it’s a good role for him.”

“You think so?” Angel glances down at himself as if reconsidering his stance on helicopters.

Darla smiles indulgently at him. Then she sees Xander and laughs. “New boy?”

“Oh, I’m not new,” he corrects her. “Well, I’m new to this, I mean the meeting part, but I’ve been around. It’s just more that we haven’t met because, you know, you’re the important investor type, and I more do random stuff for everyone. Except now I’m only doing Spike.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Darla says smoothly. 

Xander chokes on the water he just took a sip of. “Not _doing_ doing, I just meant--“

“You can stop.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand and takes the seat that Oz has found for her on the other side of Spike. She puts her manicured, ring-laden hand in front of her mouth and says in an exaggerated whisper, “He’s cute, Spike, but he seems a little dumb.”

“Hey,” Xander protests.

Darla laughs merrily. “Now, you all go right ahead and finish your notes. Just pretend like I’m not even here.”

“Fine,” Spike says through gritted teeth. “In two hours we’ll have the pages for tonight’s shooting. We’ll spend the rest of the afternoon setting up the angles for the helicopter, and we’ll run through the scene twice before we--”

“Oh, darling, I forgot to tell you,” Darla interrupts him to speak to Angel. 

“Yeah,” Angel answers. Xander sits up with a start when he realizes that before Darla spoke to Angel, Angel was watching him. Oz shrugs when Xander looks at him in confusion.

“I forgot to tell you that we’re going to Spago’s tonight. So you can’t be in any of the scenes this evening.”

“But we’re going to shoot the whole sequence tonight,” Oz says. 

Spike rolls his eyes. “Listen, if you want to have Angel up on the big screen looking pretty, you can’t just have him work when you’ve shopping to do and then waltz him away when you need a big muscled arm to lean on.” 

“I know this film is very important to you,” Darla says. She tosses her hair back and trails her fingertips down her neck. “It should be, since I’m the only one that’s willing to have you on a project these days. But you have to understand, Spike. This is a very important dinner.”

Spike looks up for a moment, and Xander can’t help but wonder if he’s counting to ten. “Well. It’s your money,” Spike says finally.

“Damn right it is. Angel?” And she’s rising out of her seat, not even looking back before Angel is hurrying out after her. For a moment, everyone is silent. 

“So do we still have to have the pages in two hours?” Andrew asks timidly. 

Spike stands and with one arm sweeps notes, papers, bottles of water, and all the contents of the table he can reach onto the floor before stalking out of the room. 

“That’d be no, right?” Andrew asks Warren.


	3. Box Office Smash

The meeting disperses quickly after Spike’s walk out.

“We’ll figure out the action sequence at dinner,” Warren tells the other two writers. “A little bit of gunfire, some hanging from the door of the helicopter, maybe some rope ladder breaking off at the last minute, and we’re set. Instant thriller.”

“Ooooh, let’s go to that Vegan Southwest place,” Andrew puts in as he clutches his laptop to his chest and follows him out. “They have that non-dairy non-creamy sour cream. And we’ll hang that blond girl -- what’s her name -- from the helicopter so Angel can save her. With his shirt off.”

“What? No!” Jonathan hurries after them both. “You chose last time, and Warren said that I could pick if I gave in, so we’re going to get Chinese. Besides, that’s totally ripping off _True Lies_ with the girl hanging from the helicopter!”

“It’s called an _homage_ ,” Andrew explains.

“It’s called a big time lawsuit,” Jonathan argues.

“Huh. I guess Devon took off already,” Oz remarks to no one in particular as he surveys the nearly-empty lot

“Yeah, well, I think the tech crew saw Spike storm out of the room,” Xander says. He knows he’s right about because the last of them are scrambling around, busy packing up and taking off while the getting is good.

“Damn. I was going to go over that car chase sequence with the sound guys since we’ve got the extra time.”

Oz is frowning at his clipboard and marking something with a pen when Xander decides that now is a really good time to sneak out the door himself. There’s a burrito shack on the way home that’s got his name written all over it, and he’s got three episodes of “Profit” on the DVR and a roommate free apartment tonight in which to watch them.

“Hey,” Oz says suddenly. Xander tries not to groan. “I wanted to talk to you about --”

Xander starts talking before he has time to think. “Yeah, I’ll definitely catch up with you about that tomorrow. I mean, too bad Spike freaked, but I guess we’ll call it a win if the rest of us get to head home, right? Whoo, I’m beat, are you? Long day! So I think I’ll crash on my couch and sleep ‘til early call tomorrow. Say ‘so long,’ to the rest of the guys for me, ‘kay?”

He’s actually made it a few yards away on the lot by the time Oz clears his throat.

If Xander didn’t think Oz was a good guy, right about now he would break into a sprint. It’s been fourteen-hour days on the set for two weeks, and this is the first time they’ve gotten to break early. But since he does like Oz, he just makes a face and turns around slowly. “Okay. What?”

Oz jerks his head back towards the meeting room. “All the script notes are on the floor.”

“This is true.” Xander shakes his head. “It’ll be a pain to put them back together. Spike went a little nutso after Darla left, huh?”

Oz takes another step forward. “Now Spike’s locked in his trailer. ”

Xander shrugs. “Probably tearing apart more stuff. I’d put good money on it, if I in fact _had_ good money.”

Oz regards him with one eyebrow cocked. “I’m here all night figuring out how we’re going to schedule scenes now that we’re behind. But someone’s going to have to go calm Spike down and help him get it together for tomorrow’s full day of shooting.”

At that Xander actually laughs. “You know, you’re right. Man, someone having to deal with Spike right now? I feel sorry for whoever that poor bastard . . .” Xander trails off when Oz just looks at him. “Oh. Fuck.”

* * *

When Xander eases open the trailer door, he’s greeted by complete silence. “Hey, there,” he calls out. “Spike? You, uh . . . you even here, buddy?”

Xander takes one more step inside and closes the door behind him. He figures if he stands there and counts to thirty with no response, he’s in the clear to take off. “Extra guacamole,” he says to himself. “Make that burrito a _grande_.”

“Fuck!” Spike shouts from a little further inside. The yell is followed by the unmistakable sound of fist meeting trailer wall. “Fucking hell!”

“Great, so you’re busy, and I’ll just catch you later,” Xander tries to say all at once.

“That bitch!” Spike stalks out from wherever he was and snarls at Xander “She thinks she can just -- why did I agree to take that ponce -- got no talent, no idea why she thinks he can be the lead -- and fuck am I doing working with them in the first place?”

“After two of your major studio movies tanked, you didn’t have a choice?” Xander offers.

He only just manages to back away when Spike picks up some kind of stoneware dish and throws it against the wall. It’s a testament to the terrible material of said wall that the plate merely bounces before thudding down onto the cheap thin carpeting.

“God damn it,” Spike yells, and he’s all up in Xander’s face somehow.

“Hey, now, hey,” Xander says. He laughs a little when he realizes that he has zero ideas for a follow up to that. “There’s got to be a better way,” comes out of his mouth and he nods at Spike, while he pats his arm because yeah, that sounds like a good start.

Spike punches the wall to the right of Xander’s head, and when Xander turns in shock he notices that the spot distends _more_ rather than at all. As Spike backs off with a growl, Xander begins wondering how many _grr argh_ sessions Spike’s had here in the trailer after script meetings.

“Thinks she can do that to me, her and her big poodle,” Spike mutters. “I’ll show them.”

“Well, let’s do something else instead of breaking your hand or killing your trailer, okay?” Xander says quickly. “I know! We’ll go out to the meeting room, and pick up all your stuff, and you can tell me how jerky Angel is and why Darla is a bitch, and then you’ll feel better.”

“No,” Spike says clearly, and just like that, he’s got Xander cornered like he’s going to start a fight.

“Well, don’t take it out on _me_ ,” Xander says with irritation. “I’m the one that got called pretty but dumb, right?”

Spike stares at him, uncomprehending. Then suddenly he laughs. He clasps Xander’s shoulder, gasping for breath and laughing as though everything is suddenly abso-freaking-hysterical. “Oh god, _right_! Hell, she’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah!” Xander warms up to the topic. “She just comes waltzing in there, insulting people, breaking up the meeting with her . . . blond hair and her money. Plus, remember how she tried to say that I’m doing you just because I said I was . . . uh . . . doing you?”

Spike suddenly grins. “Cute,” he says.

“Thank you. I mean, what?”

“Cute but dumb,” Spike clarifies. “Darla didn’t say you were pretty; she said you were cute but dumb.”

“Oh.” Xander scratches his head. “Is that better?” Spike’s still grasping his shoulder, and when his fingers tighten, Xander glances down at Spike’s hand. “Um . . .”

“Sure you want to be all principled still?” Spike asks. His voice is thick and sweet as his fingers travel down Xander’s arm and rest on the waist of Xander’s cargo pants.

“Principles, um . . .” Xander blinks. “What?”

It’s less than a count of five before they’re kissing. Spike’s still growling, and for some sick reason Xander can’t help but find that really hot. What with Spike already pressing against him, Xander figures it’s no harm done if he kind of wriggles a little to take advantage of the situation. While he’s there, he might as well suck on Spike’s tongue, too, especially since Spike’s decided to thrust it hard in and out of his mouth.

He should stop, he knows, especially after giving Spike that speech about how their relationship was going to be strictly professional from now on. But then again, he can’t exactly remind Spike of that as long as his mouth is full of Spike’s tongue. Which is why Xander moans a little, encouraging Spike to keep kissing him.

It’s only when he stumbles that he realizes that Spike has eased him away from the wall and gotten them on the move to what passes for a separate bedroom in the back of the trailer.

“This is so not a good idea,” Xander mumbles before pulling Spike’s head back to his so he can get at that mouth again. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he yanks Spike down along with him.


End file.
